Across from him was the
forest, silent, black, reaching to the end of the earth, and over it,
like a signal light, beckoning him back to his world, the aurora sent
out its shafts of red and gold. And as he listened there came to him
faintly a distant wailing sound that he knew was the voice from that
world, and at the sound the hair rose along Kazan's spine, and he
whined deep down in his throat. Jan's breath grew quicker, his blood
warmer. Over there--across the river--his world was calling to him,
and he, Jan Thoreau, was now free to go. This very night he would bury
himself in the forest again, and when he lay down to sleep it would be
with his beloved stars above him, and the winds whispering sympathy
and brotherhood to him in the spruce tops. He would go--NOW. He would
say good-by to Thornton--and GO.
He found himself running, and Kazan ran beside him. He was breathless
when he came to the one lighted street of the town. He hurried to the
hotel and found Thornton sitting where he had left him.
"It is ended, m'sieur," he cried in a low voice. "It is over, and I am
going. I am going to-night."
Thornton rose. "To-night," he repeated.
"Yes, to-night--now. I am going to pick up my things. Will you come?"
He went ahead of Thornton to the bare little room in which he had
slept while at the hotel.
Pages:
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228